


The Future, Wouldn't that be Nice?

by Helmhammerhand



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:10:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helmhammerhand/pseuds/Helmhammerhand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein can't say that he'd meant his life to turn out like this. Yeah, he'd joined Levi's gang, but he didn't consider himself to be a thug. Rebellious? Sure, but there's more to him than getting into fights and failing school...isn't there? Is this all he'll ever amount to? Is there no going back? He'd abandoned hope, that is until Armin Arlert gave him an ultimatum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aren't We All Running?

**Author's Note:**

> Cheesy HS Jearmin au. There will be a rumble, Outsiders-style, so violence is a given.  
> Story title courtesy of The Books.

Jean sat in the back of the class, leaning back in his chair with his legs spread out as far forward as they'd reach, with his cap tilted over his eyes. He liked for everyone to think he was asleep, so he could watch the blonde boy at the front of the class in secret. People would think he was creepy if they found out, but he couldn't help himself. This boy was the antithesis of everything Jean felt about himself. His name was Armin Arlert. Shit, it even sounded academic. He was the president of their graduating class, and spent his free time attending student councils meetings or reading. Jean only knew this because he would hang out around school after classes let out, waiting to meet up with his friends.

 _Friends, ha,'_ Jean snickered at the thought, still training his eyes on the blonde who was studiously taking notes on whatever bullshit the teacher was spewing now.

_'No, they're not my friends.'_

The ringleader was a boy named Levi from the senior class, who was the silent, brooding type. No one elected him, he had just naturally assumed command. He wasn't violent, or at least not often, but Jean thought that was what made him dangerous. People deferred to him out of fear. Auruo was his second in command. Jean didn't like him; he was slick, and spent a lot of time attempting to threaten women into going home with him. When that didn't work, which was often, he'd take his frustrations out on the freshmen. The last member was an excitable woman named Hanji, another senior. Jean could never figure out why she was there in the first place. She didn't seem like the type to join a bunch of criminals. She was always fascinated in whatever topic piqued her interest at the time, and spent hours talking their ears off. Then again, he was the only junior in the gang, it wasn't his place to ask questions. He was simply glad to not be on the receiving end of their blows, to be on the winning side when they fought their rivals. They often clashed with a group of juniors from the school in the next district. Their leader, Reiner, packed a rude punch, but he fell every time before Levi. Jean didn't like fighting, but he could sure as hell protect himself, especially when he had to.

Initially, the mob was a way to rebel against his domineering parents; they wanted him to get into a good college and become a sheep like them. They refused to take no for an answer, but when Jean came home from a fight covered with bruises and a swollen black eye for the third week in a row, they gave up on him. He had been pleased about it at the time.

 _'Is this was the type of life I wanted?'_ he thought, glancing at the blackboard. The marks on the board were gibberish to him. He felt like scum, like a barely human piece of trash lingering on the edge of society. He couldn't bring himself to admit it to anyone, but he actually missed getting good marks in school. The work had been rewarding, but he couldn't deal with the pressure. He hated himself for giving up.

 _'Why does he do it? Why does he care so much about taking school seriously?'_ Jean thought, shifting in his seat when the girl in front of him blocked his view of Armin. Something about watching the boy made him feel better about life. _'At least someone is going to make it out of this shithole...Lucky fucker. No, it's not luck. He actually makes an effort.'_ He scoffed and looked out the window.

Eventually the class bell rang, and people began gathering their things, but Jean couldn't bring himself to move a muscle. He sat in an ever-growing pool of self-loathing, staring out the window at absolutely nothing. Someone rapped on his desk, and he turned to see Armin standing directly of him. His mouth gaped slightly in shock before he assumed his typical scowl.

"What do you want, Arlert? Get out of my face." He swatted towards the boy with his right hand, but he could feel a slight blush glowing on his cheeks.

Armin didn't move. He stood in front of Jean's desk with a solemn, almost melancholy look on his face. It was making Jean uncomfortable.

"Seriously Armin, fuck off." He tried to stand, but froze when Armin started speaking, his voice soft.

"Jean, the teacher told me you are failing this class, and that if you fail you won't be able to graduate. He asked me to help you."

Jean glowered at him, then stood and started towards the door. As he past the blonde, he whispered, "I don't need the help of a teacher's pet." Armin winced at the words.

Jean was about to step into the hallway when he heard the blonde mumble something behind him.

He wheeled, "Whatever you just said, you can say it to my face, Mr. President."

Armin bit his lower lip, his eyes watery. "You think I want to do this? You think I want to spend my time on a lowlife like you, who's got no hope for the future? This is as much a waste of my time as it is yours."

The words cut into Jean, serrated edges picking at his already low self-confidence. He glared at the floor, the muscles of his clenched jaw twitching. _'I could've blown off anyone else, but it had to be Armin, didn't it?'_ He sighed, and heard the rush of his voice before he realized he was even speaking.

"I don't want to be this way. I don't want to be some fucking corporate lawyer like my parents wanted, but I don't want to be a thug either. You're right, Armin, I am a lowlife. I'm a nobody, I'm a blight on the fucking world. But there's nothing I can do now. I've thrown it all away and ruined everything." He collapsed into the nearest chair, holding his head in his hands half out of shame, half embarrassment. He hadn't expected to blow up like this. Tears stung his eyes, falling on the knees of his jeans

Slowly, Armin walked over and sat in the seat across from him. An awkward silence lingered between them before Jean could bring himself to break it.

"I would give anything to be like you, Armin," he whispered. It felt like a prayer on his lips. He looked up to see the boy bolting up straight in shock, his eyes wide. "You've got so much going for you. You're the most intelligent person I've ever met. I'm sure the world's completely open to you. You shouldn't have to…don't waste your time on me."

Armin slid out of his chair and knelt in front of Jean, searching his eyes. "I'll help you Jean, but only if you want it. You have to want to improve, and take it seriously. If not, then I'll tell the teacher you refused and that'll be the end of it."

Jean wiped his face with his sleeve, looking at the blonde through bleary eyes. "I do...I want that more than anything. I don't want to be this person anymore."

Armin nodded resolutely. He walked to the door, resting his hand on the frame. "It's settled then. Tell your…friends you won't be seeing them today." He gave Jean a small smile. "Meet me at the library in a half hour," he said, walking out into the hallway.

Jean continued sitting for several minutes, gazing out the window with unfocused eyes, before making his way out of the classroom with a faint hint of a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of 65daysofstatic.


	2. Because I was Too Nervous at the Time

"Oi, Jean!" Hanji yelled from the second floor of the outdoor walkway that connected the two school wings. She stared at him with the look on her face. That look, the one that she gets when she's going to explain in excruciating detail everything about whatever it is she just learned, and no amount of protesting or interruptions can stem that tide. "Wait there, I'll be right down!" She ran towards the east wing, and the metal doors clanged against the wall loudly in her wake.

Jean raked his hand down his face, exasperated at the idea of being lectured when all he could think about is the beating that Levi was inevitably going to give him. Jean could already hear her beginning her lecture from inside the building.  
  
She flew out of the door and right up to Jean's side, bobbing eagerly on her feet like a wrestler. "Okay, okay, Jean, you know about Bigfoot, right?" She beamed at him expectantly, eyes huge.

"….ye-"

"Good! Okay, so Bigfoot is a cryptid and yeah he's the most popular cryptid I mean everyone knows who Bigfoot is, or well I guess no one does actually, but everyone knows OF Bigfoot. Oh, and Nessie, too, she's another big one."

Jean stared at her blankly. He should have been used to this by now, he'd known Hanji since he was a freshman, but somehow her constant enthusiasm always blew him away. She was a fountain of random trivia, and most of the time her rants amused him. 'God, I don't have time for this right now.'

"…the big players in the game, but they're not the only ones! Not by a long shot, there are so many others. I've been researching cryptozoology and it's fascinating. To a biologist, the evidence is dubious at best, but from an anthropological perspective the mythologies shed such an intriguing light on their respective cultures!"

"Hanji..."

"I mean, there are so many explanations! Mass hysteria, cultural memory, local legends, inexplicable disasters!"

"Hanji."

"For example there are several cultures that believe in giant spiders. The J'ba Fofi of the Congo is said to get as big as six feet wide! Can you imagine a spider that massive? God, I'd love to get a look at its-"

"HANJI!"

She blinked at him. "Jean, you don't have to yell. What is it?"

Jean scuffed the ground with his foot. "I want to leave."

"Well, what do you need my permission for?"

He tore his eyes from the ground, meeting her gaze. "No, Hanji. I want to leave the gang."

She frowned deeply, looking around to see if anyone was around them even though it after school hours and most of the students were long gone by now. "Jean, when did you last speak to Levi?" she asked quietly.

Quiet was not a trait that came easily to Hanji.

He paused to think for a few moments, uncertainty beginning to gnaw at him "Day before yesterday. Why?"

She breathed in sharply, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him full in the face, worry picking at the edges of her eyes. Suddenly, she let go of him and started walking down the hallway towards the main building.

"Hanji, wait. Why does it matter when-"

She spun around, walking backwards. "Just…be careful okay? Levi's not exactly in his happy place today." Then she turned, opened the doors and disappeared inside.

Jean was rooted to the spot. His mouth hung open silently, as it always seemed to be after the whirlwind that was Hanji passed by. He gawked vacantly at the big grey doors, her words ringing in his ears. _'Levi doesn't even have a fucking happy place. Great, this is going to be even more fun than I expected. He's going to use my ass as a hide and make himself some fine leather.'_ Instinctively, he put his hand in his back pocket. Turning, he walked out onto the grass that led towards the athletic fields.

The Cut lay just beyond the football and soccer fields, in the middle of a small wooded area between the school grounds and the neighboring park. It was easy to see the path up to it, but since it technically was on the park's property there wasn't much the faculty could do about the students who loitered there. Originally it had been a spot for druggies and drop outs; Levi didn't even have to threaten them before they were cowering and surrendering their hideout. He'd chosen the Cut to be brash. He wanted everyone to be able to see them, to know that they were in charge, that he was the one in charge. From a strategic perspective, Jean had to admit it was a natural choice. They could see anyone who was approaching, yet were concealed enough to do what they wanted in relative secrecy.

Jean paused at the edge of the woods, listening to Auruo's voice warbling through the trees. He could have sworn he was walking through mud with the way ground sucked at his feet, dragging him down, but the path was dry and he was edging his way closer to pain. He tried to seem casual, but it came off as nervous nonchalance. "Hey," he said meekly, sitting down on one of the many logs scattered about.

They looked up at him, and Auruo continued speaking without missing a beat.

"So I tried putting on the fancy airs, promising her a steak dinner and all the flowers and romance bullshit, but she wasn't having it. She just walked out on me! She even left her pastry on the damn table. Which I ate, by the way."

"Truly riveting." Levi's deadpan eyes fixated on Jean.

 _'Does he even blink? Fuck, he knows something's up. Perceptive asshole.'_ Jean felt his hands sweating through the pockets of his slacks. He held Levi's gaze, trying to grasp at least one victory before this was all over. It felt like a physical weight was pulling Jean down, crushing him. Struggling, he tried to find his voice but it came out as a whisper, "Levi, I-"

"Whatever it is, it can wait." Levi waved a hand in the air, turning his eyes to look around disinterestedly. Jean choked back a cough at the sudden interruption. "There are more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."

"Pressing…?" Jean asked flatly.

Levi flicked a speck of dust off his pants, and looked back up at him. Jean felt the yoke fall on him again. "We have a rumble with those petulant children from Utgard next week. Make sure you're ready."

He couldn't breathe. _'A rumble? We haven't been in a rumble for over a year, where is this from all of a sudden? You've gotta be shitting me, of all times. A beating I would have taken, but I can't leave now, not before a fucking rumble. They'll leave me on my front porch as a heap of broken bones.'_

"Reiner's group?" he asked, obviously perturbed. Levi gave him the 'are you an idiot?' look. "Do we have a problem, Kirschstein?"

"…No, Levi. I'll be ready," he muttered.

A feeling of utter despair descended on Jean. He'd been so close to getting out. In the back of his mind, he heard Auruo begin talking again, but the words were fuzzy and far away. He stared at a small clump of grass by Levi's feet, thinking about how Armin was waiting for him. Glancing down at his watch, he saw he was almost an hour late.  
  
He stood up awkwardly, saying goodbye to the two who scarcely seemed to noticed. He walked back to campus as a complete wreck. Clawing ineffectually at his face, he scraped his nails lightly over the warm flesh of his cheek. With each step, the hope he had felt in the classroom, with Armin kneeling in front of him, dissolved.

Armin was standing by the door of the library, holding a book loosely in his hands and glancing around every few seconds in agitation. Jean stood for a moment on the other side of the glass doors, watching him. _'This feels so different from the way I looked at him this morning,'_ he thought miserably. He took a few moments to reassemble his personality, trying to feign lightheartedness. Armin noticed him just as he walked through the doorway, a small smile brushing across his face that was quickly buried beneath a dark frown.

"Jean Kirschstein, do you even know how to read a clock?" Armin chided him.

Jean couldn't help but laugh, though he wasn't sure if it was genuine. "I'm sorry I'm late, Armin. School gangs aren't exactly known for their punctuality. It won't be a problem anymore, I promise."

Armin's eyes widened slightly. "You actually did it?"

Jean nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"I have to be honest, I didn't actually expect you to leave your…gang." The word fell from his lips like a curse, and Jean flinched. "I thought you'd only agreed to study to get me out of your hair, because you couldn't say no outright or something."

"Who do you think I am, some cowardly worm?" Jean teased, trying not to show how he was breaking apart inside.

"I thought you would ditch me, and in another five minutes I would have known it to be true and left. You're lucky you caught me, you know? I would've given up on you."

Jean smirked and opened the door to the library, letting Armin walk in first. "Would've implies you haven't, so what have I got to worry about?"

Armin scoffed, glancing around for an open table. "For one, you don't have any of your books with you. You don't even bring a backpack to school, how do you expect to do any work? I feel like I'm staring at a block of marble with a chisel in my hand wondering where to start."

"Well then let's get started, Machiavelli."

Armin stopped short and gave him a shocked look.

"What?"

"You can't possibly mean that."

"Uh, mean what?"

"Machiavelli wasn't even a sculptor, Jean. That's Michelangelo."

Before Jean could come up with a witty reply, the librarian glared at them and told them to be quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of My Little Airport.


	3. Abutting, Dismantling

"So you see, here Schwalbe et al. are talking about how an individual's cultural capital, which involves everything from skills, to knowledge, to tastes and values, is learned via their social position, and how that varies by class and social group. They go on to point out that social groups can deny access to individuals who do not possess the requisite cultural capital, and thus regulate access to their privileges. It is through the application of cultural capital…Are you even listening to me?"

The exasperated tone cut through Jean's daydream, and he snapped awake to see Armin staring at him disapprovingly.

The blonde sighed, placing his hand over the pages scattered around the table in front of them. "You promised me that you would take this seriously Jean, and I believed you. I want to keep believing you, but you are making it incredibly difficult. Even I have limits on my patience."

Jean felt his cheeks grow hot at the harsh words. He was paying attention… somewhat, just not to the words the boy was speaking. He'd gone into this fully intending to soak up the knowledge he was generously being offered, but he found himself paying more attention to the way Armin's hands would move in small circles when he was explaining things. He had been watching Armin in class long enough to recognize his mannerisms, but the sounds his voice made were entirely new to him. For as smart as he was, Armin didn't participate in class often. Now words seemed to tumble out of him at an ever increasing rate, especially when he reached a passage he particularly enjoyed. Jean was incredibly thankful for the act of pity Armin was bestowing upon him, but the boy's movements were so hypnotic that it became increasingly difficult for Jean to pay attention to anything else. The flush on his cheeks deepened when he realized that he'd been blatantly gazing at Armin. It's hard to be a subtle when they're staring right back at you.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Jean turned to look at the notebook he had laid in front of him, which was completely empty except for a header at the top that just read 'sociology'. The blank page reminded Jean of his prospects for the future, and he ground his teeth together in distaste. _'I refuse to let anything determine my life except myself.'_

"I am taking this seriously; I'm just not much of a note-taker Armin. But I appreciate the condescension anyway, it's very inspirational."

Out of the side of his eye, he saw the boy turn away from him, tapping his pencil on the table more aggressively than Jean would have liked. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but his natural defense mechanism was kicking in.

"Alright then, what was I talking about just now?" A hint of anger trembled beneath the surface of his voice.

Jean turned to look him dead in the eye, purposefully making his voice as flat as possible. "You were talking about cultural capital and how those in power use it to stay in power. Cultural capital being basically the how, when, and why of a person's socialization."

"Good, that's very accurate."

The two boys sat awkwardly beside one another, eyes locked, neither wanting to give the other the satisfaction of winning. The subtle hum of the library filled the void between them until eventually Jean caved. _'You think I'd be able to handle this brainiac's staring contest after putting up with Levi for so long, but damn if this kid doesn't have some resolve.'_ He picked up his pencil and scribbled down in his characteristic illegible short-hand the bare bones of what Armin had covered so far. "So what kind of cultural capital were you blessed with, teacher's pet?"

Armin's eyes narrowed for a moment, then softened at the edges as he drew in a short breath. "I'll have you know I'm not particularly blessed at all. Not that I don't have several things to be thankful for, I do, I live very well comparatively to others, it's just…" He watched his own hands play nervously with the hem of his shirt.

Jean saw this, feeling the hesitance in Armin's words reverberate around them. He regretted being the cause of it, but he'd be damned if he apologized. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Armin. It was a dick thing of me to say."

Armin sighed, more morose than before, and met Jean's gaze. A timid smile reached his lips when he saw that Jean's smirk was gone, replaced by a seemingly genuine frown. Somehow the slight change reassured him, and he felt confident enough, at least for now. Later he might wish he hadn't told him this, but it was a fairly good example of cultural capital, and he thought the realness of it might help Jean remember the concept better.

"My parents died when I was very young."

"Shit Armin, I'm sorry I didn't mean to…" He'd started speaking before he had decided where he'd intended to go with it, and the sentence fell flat between them. Jean internally kicked himself, trying to look anywhere but at Armin.

"No, it's alright. It was a long time ago, when I was about seven." Armin had rationalized this topic to himself so many times now that the sting in his eyes came as a surprise. Determined not to cry in his high school library, he blinked several times and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "I was old enough then to still have memories of them now, and that is really the most I can ask for."

Jean looked at him with a sideways glance, not knowing what to do with himself.

"Anyway, I live with my grandpa not too far away from here. We're not very well off, really. He leaves for work at the used bookstore down off the highway pretty early in the morning, so I walk to school. We live in a duplex with another family, who have several kids. It tends to get a little loud so I spend most of my time here, where I can read or use a computer. When my grandpa gets home I make dinner for us, but it's usually hamburger helper, or something out of a box." Armin scuffed the worn carpet with his shoe. "As you can probably tell, most of my cultural capital comes from what I read here in the library, though I'm not sure if my knowledge of Lord of the Rings and Dune are going to get me into a country club anytime soon."

Jean tried to hide his wince beneath a smile, but he knew it came off looking more like a sneer than anything else. An intense feeling of guilt washed over him, and he prayed that some cosmic event would just end everything right now.

A look of concern passed over Armin's face, and he suddenly felt very self-conscious. "Jean, did I say something wrong?"

_'Shit, this guy is so fucking earnest and sincere, it'd be easier to rip out my own heart than to sit here with him looking at me at those goddamn doe eyes. I feel like about to run him over with a truck, which is probably not too far from the figurative truth.'_

"..No, you didn't, I just feel like a complete asshole now."

"You couldn't have known, its okay." Armin held his hands up in a reassuring gesture, shaking his head slightly.

"No, it's not that. You're trying so hard to do the best you can with what you have and I'm over here sitting on my high horse pissing my life away." Jean's voice rose steadily as his anger towards himself choked its way out. "Armin, my parents attend a country club almost daily. My dad plays golf twice a week and my mom has more pairs of Prada sunglasses than a fucking Lenscrafters. I spent every day last summer sitting on the side of a pool sipping on lemonade while you're eating goddamn hamburger helper. Tell me that isn't the universe giving you a big middle finger, Armin! I deserve none of this, I literally could not give two fucks about anything I have and life is handing you a shit cake and telling you to smile. That's ri-goddamn-diculous, Armin."

Armin's eyes grew wide as Jean spoke, his hands waving frantically to get him to be quiet, but Jean couldn't bring himself to stop once he'd opened his mouth. That's how he was, he had to get it all out or else the words would eat at his insides.

Jean jumped when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He spun around and found himself practically nose-to-nose with the librarian. Her breath hit him full in the face, oozing disdain.

"Mr. Kirschstein, we are so glad you decided to grace us with your presence for the first time in your entire high school career, but if you are going to continue to be a nuisance, which I must admit comes as a surprise to absolutely no one, then I'm going to have to ask to leave the library. Armin, you're more than welcome to stay, I just ask that next time you choose some quieter company."

Jean was two seconds away making a scene, his anger bubbling over, but Armin spoke before he could come up with a proper sarcastic retort.

"I apologize, Ms. Toski, we were just finishing up."

"Armin, what are you –"

Armin kicked him directly in the shin, causing him to wince in pain. Jean could've sworn he saw that snub-nosed book peddler smirk at him, but he took the hint and began to gather his things. Ms. Toski took this as a victory and left to return to her desk, and Jean immediately turned on Armin.

"What the hell are you doing, playing nice to that witch?"

Armin started picking up the papers littered around and said, "She's not a witch Jean, she's actually quite nice. I'll have you know she's bought me lunch before when I couldn't afford it. You were the one screaming obscenities at the top of your lungs in the middle of a library."

That made him feel like a total jerk, so he pushed his chair in with a bit too much force and stormed out the double doors. He wanted more than anything to flip Ms. Toski the bird as he walked by, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Plus, it might piss off Armin if he ruined the only sanctuary he had. He walked outside and took a seat at one of the metal tables scattered about the small courtyard, throwing his feet up in front of him and his back against the wall.

_'That librarian is such a fucktruck. Studying with Armin is going to be a fucking cakewalk now.'_

He wasn't particularly focused on anything, but he saw something in the distance that caught his eye. Levi and Auruo were walking across the other side of the courtyard towards the Cut. Auruo was babbling on, oblivious to the world around him as usual, but Levi had certainly noticed Jean. He was staring at him point blank, with a look on his face that sent chills down Jean's spine. He knew that look; Levi's eyebrows tilted menacingly, his mouth was a straight line that could've made any art student jealous. That look meant _'you better fucking come talk to me right now, if you want to continue having a pair of balls'._ Instinctively, Jean crossed his legs.

Armin came walking out of the door just as Levi and Auruo had passed behind the building. He walked up to Jean, but stopped short when he saw the intense scowl on the boy's face. "God Jean, you can't be that pissed off at something that was your own fault?"

 _'Oh, the irony,'_ he thought. "Yeah, well it's not exactly going to be easy showing up there again to study with her hunting me like a convicted felon."

Armin scoffed lightheartedly and sat down at the table. "She won't hold it against you forever, I promise. She has a penchant for the theatrical is all."

Jean kicked the wall behind him. "Yeah, well she's Mr. and Mrs. Macbeth alright."

Armin's laugh lilted through the air like the sound of a flute, clear and bright. It reminded Jean of how he had lied to him, and the guilt came crashing down full force.

"Well, you may not know your sculpture, but at least you know Shakespeare," Armin giggled.

"I took theater tech in freshman year."

Armin nodded, and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Did you mean what you said, in the library?"

"That I'm a complete fuck up? Yeah, that one came out wholeheartedly."

Armin shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Do you really not care, about anything in your life?"

Armin looked up at him with that doe eyed expression, which Jean couldn't be sure whether he did intentionally or it if was some unfortunately adorable personality quirk.  
  
Jean felt his heart ache in his chest, but managed a weak smile. _'I have to get out of here, fast. I can't stand to face him right now. He actually wants to help me and all I'm doing is spitting in his face. I was right, he deserves so much better than this, than anything I could give him.'_

"Yeah, I did." He stood up suddenly, putting his pencil behind his ear. "Armin, I gotta go."

Armin shot him a confused, downcast look, but he nodded and stood as well. "Alright. Can you meet me here tomorrow? I have early release on Thursdays, so I'll already be in the library. We can start in on the next section of the study."

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you then." Jean said, clipping his words more than he'd intended. He walked away briskly, steps slightly erratic. He could feel Armin's eyes lingering on him. _'Thank god the parking lot is between the library and the Cut. At least Armin won't know where I'm going.'_

 

* * *

  
Jean knew that Auruo was yelling directly in his face, but his ears only heard ringing. He felt a fist strike his jaw, then his ass connect with the ground at blunt force trauma speed. He rose from the ground swinging and caught Auruo on the ear. He yelped in pain like a kicked puppy and kneed Jean in the stomach before Levi restrained him with a threat of violence. All it took was a simple word and Auruo was limping away to nurse his ear on a log that was as far away from Jean as possible, cursing under his breath.

Levi glared at Jean, which might well have been the most emotion he'd ever seen from the senior. It unsettled him and he rolled on his feet anxiously, like a kid about to be scolded by his father. He knew this had been coming, had been dreading it. All he could think about was how he was going to explain the bruises away, envisioning anger flaring in Armin's clear blue eyes, the undertones of betrayal turning into a full symphony. A cacophonous noise, all of Jean's failures crashing down in timpani. Just the idea of it hurt worse than his face did. Levi started walking towards him swiftly and he braced himself for second impact, clenching his eyes shut.

The hit never came. After few seconds crept past, Jean peeked from behind heavy eyelids. Levi was standing in front of him looking up, but the glare was gone. Somehow, the usual blank expression made him all the more menacing. _'I was prepared to get my ass kicked, but what has short shit got planned now? Should I pre-order an ambulance to be on the safe side?'_

Levi watched confusion scrawl itself across Jean's face, thoroughly enjoying the terror he saw lingering beneath the surface. Suddenly, he reached forward and grabbed Jean by the front of his shirt. Jean recoiled in fear, but couldn't flee fast enough, finding his nose inches away from Levi. He shuttered, steeling himself once more. _'Here it comes.'_

"Tch." The short senior tossed Jean backwards, wiping his hand on his pants in disgust. "There's no need to tip toe around like a sugarplum ballerina. Why don't you tell us what it was you wanted to say yesterday?"

Jean's throat was barren, his voice coming out in fits and starts despite his efforts to regain composure. "Levi, I wanted to tell you that I don't want –"

Auruo cut him off, his shout muffled through the cloth held to his face, "Kirschstein fancies himself a fucking rocket scientist, in more ways than one."

"Auruo, I'm going to say this slowly, make sure you understand." Levi didn't even bother to turn around. "No one cares what the fuck you think."

"Well fuck yo –"

"You better be goddamn sure you want to finish that statement." The words dripped with menace. Jean couldn't help but smirk when Auruo actually yelped in fear. "Now, Kirschstein. You were saying?"

He felt his face grow hot under the pressure, but he met Levi's gaze with confidence. _'No more fucking around, Jean. No more lying.'_ He drew a deep breath, "I want to leave the gang. I don't want to waste my life anymore, I want to make something of myself. You and I both know I never fit in here, or anywhere for that matter, but I'm going to change that. I found somewhere I want to belong and it sure as fuck isn't in these woods." He stood still, not knowing what Levi's reaction would be.

"I find it amusing Kirschstein that you think you are so invaluable to us. We took you on like a drowned stowaway. We pulled you up from the self-pitying shithole you carved for yourself and gave you a proper rank. We made you one of us, you think I'm going to waste all that effort and let you just walk away?"

Jean looked away, scuffing his feet across the dirt. He knew this wouldn't be easy, but now he was genuinely considering that these two might put him in the hospital if he tried to leave. He was in far deeper than he had originally thought.

Levi threw a hand up in the air in apathetic dismissal, turning his back on the shaking boy. "Go waste your life wherever you want, Honor Roll. You're free to go shovel your shit." He began to walk towards the logs near Auruo.

Jean wheeled around, legs twitchy, forcibly stopping himself from tearing across the Cut and out of the woods. Relief mixing with unspent anxiety in his stomach, he felt like throwing up. He'd just reached the edge of the path back towards the school when Levi called out to him. Slowly, full of panic, he turned to face the senior.

"Oi, Jean. You can have your freedom, but there's one condition."

The silence after those words hung above him like a guillotine.

"Unlike you, the rest of us are actually going to graduate. This is our last year, and the last threat to our clan. There will be no backing down. You have to fight in the rumble."

Throat constricting, Jean could only manage to nod weakly. Roots and rocks shot from beneath his shoes as he fled roughshod down the path. If he looked up he could see the blade glinting in the sunlight through the trees, but he couldn't be sure who held the rope: Levi, Armin, or himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of Gregor Samsa.


	4. In Response to Irresponsibility

As he entered the key code into his neighborhood's gate, Jean realized the full breadth of his hatred for this place. A single house here could provide for at least five families, but most were occupied by superfluous families of four, two cars, and various types of socially respectable pets. Each house contained a dynasty. This part of town sustained the maid business all on its own, summoning shadow people to clean the show rooms, the unlivable spaces that were never used. It was a crime, the way these ballroom-sized expanses stood empty. Jean's family had at least four: the Holiday dinner room, the guests-visiting-from-out-of-town parlor, and two guest bedrooms each with their own bath that hadn't seen a living soul in years, if ever. His father had a smoking room in the basement that he thought Jean didn't know about, where he'd have his buddies over for whatever it is wealthy businessmen do. _'Probably drugs or gambling,'_ Jean thought bitterly.

Jean's motorbike growled loudly as he dipped across the broad, slinking roads. Making the sound reverberate against the mansion windows was his way of snubbing this life, of giving a giant middle finger to the person his parents wanted him to be. He didn't want to live up to their flawed expectations; he wanted to be himself, whoever that was. He wanted to be free.

He turned into his driveway, a meandering circle that wound its way from the curb to the porch and back. As a kid, it's brickwork had been a canvas to him, to be colored endlessly with chalk. Where before he'd created worlds, now he only left skid marks. As he parked beside the house, he noticed with a wave of respite that his dad's Tesla was missing. He took off his helmet, and sat starting at it in his hands for several moments.

 _'I haven't earned a single thing in my life. Everything I have has been handed to me. I'm sitting here being pissed because I have all I could ever want, but I don't want a single piece of it. I'm sure Armin could deduce a million ways I'm being a prick.'_ He sneered at himself, scuffing at the ground with his feet. Hopping off the bike, he gingerly placed the helmet on the seat and keyed in the garage code.  
  
The door grated open slowly as his eyes burned holes into the tops of his shoes. The garage was dotted with immaculately organized tools and other domestic detritus, but the spot where his mother parked her Lexus was empty. It wasn't unusual for Jean to have the house to himself; his parents were often out schmoozing with their clients. After the days he'd been having lately, it was a relief to have a moment alone, to be able to breathe freely.

He bounded into his house, fully intent on playing his music loud enough for it to be heard three houses over, hoping the distortion would drown out his guilt. Then he saw it: slick, brightly colored paper tucked between the day's mail. Tentatively he pulled it out, the weight of his realization causing him to drop it. The words glared up at him, aggressively cheerful:

TROST MILITARY ACADEMY, A SOLUTION FOR TROUBLED TEENS.

Boys in military dress blues look solemnly out at him, holding gleaming white rifles against their shoulders. Jean swore under his breath, then over it, louder and louder until his voice started to feel hoarse.

As if on cue, he heard the garage door open. He wheeled around, aiming his finger at the pamphlet like a weapon. He was practically screaming by the time his parents opened the door, "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" He snatched up the paper and threw it at his father, pretending it was a brick. It lightly bounced off of his linen shirt, but his father refused to pick up. Stepping over it, he walked past Jean as if there was only empty space.

A fabricated voice followed his father out of the garage, "Jean Kirschstein, stop the nonsense this instant. That is not how you speak to your father." His mother walked by him, hanging up her fur coat in the closet. Even though it wasn't cold enough out for it, she almost never took the thing off in public.

Jean ground his teeth in anger, "I'll say whatever I goddamn wan-"

Smack! An open palm caught him full on the mouth, and he staggered backwards in surprise. His father towered over him, an expression of calm menace on his face. Jean's father had always made him feel like a small wounded animal, alive by his grace but just barely. A conditional survival. Jean touched his lips gingerly, glaring up at the man who held the cage door. Like he needed another bruise.

"Come now, boys. We're adults here, aren't we? Let's discuss this as adults," his mom clucked. She had glided over to the large kitchen table and was sitting there smiling placidly, vacantly . His father took a seat beside her at the head of the table.

Jean sat down as far away from them as he purposefully could, defiantly refusing to make eye contact until his mother sighed. Her words made him grind his fingernails into the cherry wood. His voice trembled in his throat, edged with anger and defeat, "You're giving me an ultimatum?"

"You've given us no choice, Jean," His father said in his slippery, public voice, "Your continual lack of initiative and your bottomless pit grades are inexcusable. We will not let you tarnish the Kirschstein name with this foolishness. The neighbors mock us behind our backs because of your antics, and we suffer it with a smile. Not anymore. We cannot afford for you to be a liability."

The calmness with which his father was disowning him left Jean unsurprised and pissed off. "Military school is your alternative? You think I'm some animal you can just throw in a pen when it misbehaves?"

"Ah, so you agree that your behavior is unacceptable?" His mom chimed in, too much happiness in her words.

Jean flung himself out of his chair, hands crashing down onto the table. "All you care about is what the fucking neighbors say about you," he hissed. "I'm your son, I'm a human being, not a showdog you can use to make yourself look better for everyone else."

His father's jaw was clenched tightly. "This is what needs to be done, Jean. There's no alternative." The flatness of his voice indicated that any discussion beyond this point would be futile. The imposing man stood up and walked out of the kitchen as if he'd just finished his breakfast.

Jean's mother placed her hand on his for comfort, but he yanked it away. "Honey, this is what's best for you," she cooed.

"How would you know what's best for me? You're never home! Mom, I've been studying. I have a tutor, a boy named Armin, and he's helping me bring my grades up. I'm getting my shit together, there's no need for an ultimatum," he pleaded. "I'm going to make this work."

She smiled at him, a creepy grin that made his skin crawl. "If there's no use for it, then there's no harm in having it, is there?" Triumphantly, she stood and followed her husband out.

Jean slammed his fist on the table, making the place settings jump. He hated how his parents could appear so serene when the world around them was comprised of shit. Prefab shit, crumbling piece by piece. He'd rip it all down with his bare hands so they could see it, force them to look at the pompous façade of a life they'd made for themselves. He hated this counterfeit existence, hated his parents open acknowledgement of contempt for him. He kicked his chair forcefully, then thundered up the staircase to his room. Slamming his door behind him, he heard the cage door click shut.  
  


* * *

 

  
He hadn't slept well; he'd past the night with his thoughts drumming in circles across his brain. Jean had never been one to find the military attractive. Of course it was necessary to some extent, but he flinched at the idea of being a part of it. To eat, sleep, and shit when told. To be obedient. His parents were always trying to cast him into their mold, but this was a dramatic new development. His face felt hot, his hands clenched the pillowcase hard. _'I refuse to be someone else's toy soldier. I refuse to live for anyone but myself.'_ He'd woken up suddenly, with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Forcing himself up the front steps of the school, he dragged his feet haggardly beneath him. He didn't have much to look forward to, but at least he'd be able to see Armin. His stomach lilted at the memory of how the boy's face lit up for that fraction of a moment in front of the library. The idea that someone would be excited to see him felt foreign; being noticed didn't quite suit him. The attention made him ravenous, the hope Armin had offered him glinted like the tip of a skyscraper. He saw Armin sitting at the top, hypnotic hand motions calling him forward. He had only to climb up.

Jean drifted out of his reverie when he saw Armin standing casually at the entrance to their class, reading. _'Is he..waiting for me?'_ Jean grinned and picked up his pace. Glancing up from his book briefly, Armin caught sight of Jean. He smiled slightly before it gradually wilted into a tight grimace.

"Hey Armin, look! I brought my books today," Jean beamed at him, twisting to show off his ratty red backpack.

Subtly, Armin increased the distance between them. "Congratulations, you've completed step one," he mumbled. Jean sought to close the space, but Armin backed up until he was against a row of lockers. The smile faded from Jean's face. "Armin what's wrong?" he stammered.

Armin stared pointedly at Jean's mouth, eyes narrowed. "You lied to me, didn't you?" The words dripped with disdain, and he tore his eyes away.

Jean became acutely aware of his split lip. He started to defend himself, had ten thousand explanations lined up, but he hesitated. He always made excuses, things were never his fault. He could never admit to any flaw. _'Isn't time he took responsibility for myself? To become my own person involves taking claim of my life, for better or worse.'_ He stuttered the beginnings of several sentences, his hands limply tracing ineffectual shapes through the air, but no words came out.

"And I believed you," Armin whispered, biting his lower lip. Jean watched Armin's halo of light dim, his heart falling when found himself casting the shadow. Dejectedly, the blonde turned to enter their classroom.

"Armin, wait." The boy stopped, looking back at him pensively through the edges of his hair. "Armin I tried to leave," Jean pleaded. "I told them I was leaving, but Levi has his own motives. He said I had to stay until.." he paused, feeling the weight of what he was about to say force itself between them. "There's going to be a rumble."

Armin whipped around, gaping at him openly. "You mean to tell me you can't leave because you're participating in a street brawl?" Contempt flashed across his face, a red hue flushing his cheeks.

"I have to," Jean muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

Armin scoffed, "Of course you have to. How very convenient for you."

"Armin listen to me, this is something I have to do. Not for the gang, or for Levi, but for myself." He felt conviction sharpen his words, focusing their meaning. Squaring his shoulders, he explained, "This is me taking responsibility for the person I was and still am, so that I can become the person I want to be. The person you've inspired me to be. I have to finish this first, then I'll be free." He waited, trying to gauge Armin's response.

It wasn't positive; he glared at Jean, boring needles into him. His slender body shivered with disappointment. He drew himself up and said quietly, "I can't believe I expected anything different from you, Jean. For a moment I was hopeful… I thought that you could change." His words hung in the air, refusing to fade. "I've be wrong before, but I've never this far off the mark. You've shown me exactly the type of person you are, and it's not the person I thought you could be. I'm not sure if you are capable of being that person. You've lied to my face, and I can't forgive that." He paused, attempting to collect himself despite the tears suspended at the edge of his eyes.  
  
In a diminutive voice he whispered, "I formally resign from my position as your tutor," then fled into the classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of Algernon Cadwallader.


	5. Closer than You Know How

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘I should have known it was her from the way she signed her name in pain across my ribcage.’

Jean’s last few classes slipped by soundlessly. He felt stationary, sitting motionless as classrooms revolved around him, melding together. Colors blurred across his vision, the world on mute. He stared blankly into space, watching the leaves outside the window twitch in the wind, trying fruitlessly to force images of Armin out of his mind. The thought of him, the memory of the sadness and worse, the disappointment that had filled the boy’s eyes only a few hours earlier caused his heart to twinge painfully.  
  
It took him a few moments to notice his final class had let out. A few students were hanging back, talking; the instructor was quietly collecting their things. He sighed, heaved his ratty red backpack over his shoulder, and walked out.  
  
Jean felt the air in his lungs thicken as he hiked across the parking lot. The summer heat was returning slowly, layering itself across the leaves, the grass, and asphalt. He stood beside his motorbike, pulling on his gloves. In the warm weather, the thick leather made it hard to grasp the handlebars firmly, coating his fingers in a fine layer of sweat and grit. Beads of it would slip down his hair towards his eyes, down the collar of his jacket, pooling in the dips of his collarbones. His breath fogged up the visor, so he mostly rode with it up. He was used to the faint tinges of heatstroke by now, but the thundering of the engine and the wind racing past him let him free.  
  
He looked up, preparing to put on his helmet, and froze. Along the edge of the road, in the unkempt bus stop full of crushed cigarette butts and the smell of oil from the passing cars, Armin sat waiting. Impulsively, Jean took a step toward him. He ached for the feeling of Armin’s arms around holding tight across his waist, his blond hair matted beneath the extra helmet as he laid his head on Jean’s back.  
  
Armin would refuse the ride, of course. He’d probably pretend Jean didn’t exist, focusing intently on his book, convinced that the space around him was full only of air. Jean couldn’t blame him; he kept letting his past undermine him, haunting his effort. He had tried to be his better self, to be a person worthy of Armin’s time and attention, to put his own future before his pride. He’d been too late.  
  
Climbing on his bike, he put on his helmet and revved the engine. He gripped the handlebars a little too tightly as it hummed to life beneath him. Slowly, dreadfully, he slid up to the stop sign. For a moment, he watched Armin out of the corner of his eye, but the boy didn’t look up. Jean kicked the pedal hard, the wheels catching tarmac in a fit of smoke as he tore into traffic. Armin had to have known it was him, but Jean refused to look back, to give himself hope or any semblance of happiness. He didn’t deserve it.

 

* * *

 

Tires squealed as Jean slammed on his brakes, catching a red light at the last moment. He tiptoed the bike up the thick white line, the smell of burnt rubber penetrating the lining of his helmet. He tensed, wincing at the pounding of his heart. Wiping feebly at the sweat along his neck, he took in a deep breath and exhaled gradually. Everything he touched kept falling to shit, yeah, but he didn’t want to die. Did he?  
  
He stared into the glaring LEDs until the red light engulfed his field of vision. No, he didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to live this life. His hands clenched at thought of Levi and the rumble, at his future military school. The door of the cage around him kept inching closer to the latch.  
  
A flash of blonde glanced across his vision, his heart sank. _‘Armin…’_

The road swelled up violently, in slow motion. Jean saw his bike land heavily on his left leg, heard his helmet scrape along the pavement. Bright bursts of pain shot up his nerves, causing him to gasp for air. Disoriented, he lifted his head, trying to see through the lingering white spots in his vision. He was ready to vent all his pent up rage at the unfortunate fucker who’d hit him.

He saw the flash of blonde again, seconds before a heavy kick crashed into his side. He cried out in shock, struggling to get out from under the bike and defend himself. Strong hands tore at his jacket, yanking him onto his knees. He threw off his helmet, glaring up into the eyes of Utgard, the rival gang.  
  
A tall brunette girl knelt down beside him, smirking. Her eyes were full of disdain and apathy simultaneously. He tried to recall her name, but the throbbing in his head made it difficult to think. She reached out and flicked Jean’s ear hard.  
  
To her right stood the flash of blonde. He knew exactly who she was: Annie Leonhardt. He’d fought her several times since he joined the gang. _‘I should have known it was her from the way she signed her name in pain across my ribcage,’_ he cringed. Her kicks had sent him to the hospital once or twice with internal injuries.  
  
His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to hide the pain and put up his calm demeanor. “An ambush, ladies? We both know you’d lose in a fair fight, but must you resort to such childish tactics?” He winced at them, hoping they took it for a sneer.  
  
Annie glared at him, her body tensing. Her legs connected with the back of his knees, and Jean found himself with a mouthful of blood and pavement as his face slammed into the ground. The weight of her boot crushed into him at the base of his neck, and he strained to look up.  
  
He’d remembered her name as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his face up close to hers. Ymir scowled at him, her voice as apathetic as her eyes, “Tell your boss we said hi.”  
  
She let go. Jean’s face landed on the asphalt with a sickening thud. He could feel blood dripping from his nose, and gravel buried into the skin of his cheeks and palms. The sound of their snide laughter and their steps retreating echoed in his ears. He waited for safety before he tried to right himself. Despite the pain, he placed his hands on either side of him and pushed. It took it more effort than he could spare to drag his bike onto the curb, so he pushed it as far out of the street as he could. He closed his eyes, sitting with his back against the scuffed metal.  
  
Footsteps again. _‘Either I’m in for another beating, or I’m going to get arrested. Fucking great,’_ he thought. Sluggishly he opened his eyes, and shrank back in fear.  
  
An absurdly tall boy stood in front of him, casting a shadow across the pavement that stretched out of sight. Their eyes locked, but Jean saw no aggression there; only tiredness and pity. Silently, the boy slid his hand forward, offering him help standing up. Jean stared at that open palm, a palm that in the past had sprawled him across the floor, had given him a black eye, had disgraced him. Disdain drove out the pain in his body. He smacked the hand away and scoffed, forcing himself to stand of his own volition.  
  
“I don’t need your help, Bertholdt,” he sneered. He righted his bike and began inspecting the damage. The paint was shredded and the tire rims were a bit bent, but it looked better than he did. _‘It just needs to get me home.’_  
  
The boy stood wordlessly, watching. His passivity made Jean uncomfortable, the weight of that unsettling gaze boring into him.  
  
Jean knocked the kickstand into place and marched up to Bertholdt, refusing to break eye contact. “Just what is it that you want?” he demanded, shoving him hard. In his head he justified any further injury to himself as part of a package deal.  
  
Bertholdt dusted off his shirt with shaking fingers, the clothing clinging to his chest. “Th…This doesn’t need to happen, you know?” His voice was disturbingly small for such a giant person. “This needless violence…”  
  
Jean jeered at him. “You mean the rumble? You think I want to be a part of this? Fuck no I don’t, but I do what I’m told,” Jean screamed at him indignantly. “If you have anything to say, you should take it up with Levi.” He smirked at the look of fear that glazed over Bert’s face. He hopped on his bike and started it. “Take your pacifist ideas and get out of my face. And tell your friends to fuck off." Jean flicked him off as he drove away.  
  


* * *

  
Jean walked into class late, hands hanging limply at his sides. His face felt like one huge bruise, a bandage and gauze clinging to his nose. His left eye was especially swollen. Between the gauze and the black eye, he could barely see. Bumping into a few desks on the way to his own, he slung his book bag on the floor and sunk into his chair heavily. Which was a mistake, as the hard plastic hurt his ass.  
  
There were a few habits Jean wanted to hold onto. He watched Armin out of the corner of his eye as best he could, as he had for so many days before. Armin hadn’t even looked up when he walked in. Jean cursed himself under his breath. He had fallen into Armin’s orbit, let his heart be drawn in by the gravity surrounding him. He had the audacity to think he belonged in the light of the sun, and now found himself being ejected into the black expanse of space.  
  
He fell into a reverie, tried to clear his mind but his thoughts kept turning back to Armin. He stared forlorn at blond bangs hanging across lidded eyes, feeling shame swell up in his chest. _‘I’m a goddamn living disappointment,’_ he chided himself angrily.  
  
A small shifting caught his attention, his eyes refocused. Armin had moved to rest his chin in his hand. Slowly, his head tilted down and back to look in his direction. Azure eyes peeked out beneath the edges of his hair, widening in shock at the sight of Jean’s injuries. He gasped silently, fingers moving to cover his mouth.  
  
Jeans cheeks flushed, unnoticeable beneath the bruising. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Armin’s gaze. He could survive freezing in darkness, but burning up in the light of the sun was too painful. Sliding down into his seat, Jean folded his arms across his desk and laid his head down so Armin couldn’t see him crying. He wanted to believe that Armin still cared for him, to hope that he was worthy of forgiveness, but he knew better. He had been incredibly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Jean. He knew, some part of him knew, that he was reviling. Hell, he revolted himself. He clenched his fists against his elbows, his mouth filling with the taste of ashes.  
  
The blond boy bit his lip, and turned back around in his seat.  
  


* * *

After class was dismissed, Jean sat up, brushing the tears from his aching eyes. He turned to stand, but found his way blocked by a petite body. Slowly, with sadness, he met Armin’s gaze. The boy’s face showed no emotion, lips held taut.  
  
 _‘Oh no, oh god. Don’t make me relive this. Please, I can’t do this. Not the beginning, not this ending. Please…’_  
  
“Hey,” Jeans voice was harsh and raspy in his ears.  
  
Armin stood quiet for a few more moments, before sliding into the seat in front of Jean’s. He dangled his feet in the aisle, kicking one softly against the linoleum. He laid his arms wide across Jeans desk and rested his chin atop them. His fingertips briefly glanced along Jean’s hands, sending streaks of fire across his skin. Nearly inaudible, Armin asked, “What happened to you?”  
  
Jean cast his eyes downward. “An ambush,” he muttered.  
  
“An ambush?” Armin tilted his head up in confusion. “I thought the rumble wasn’t for a few more days?”  
  
“It isn’t. The kids from Utgard caught me on my way home yesterday. Knocked me off my motorbike and created this masterpiece.” Jean fanned his fingers in front of his face.  
  
Armin fidgeted. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Never felt better”, Jean croaked.  
  
Armin kicked him in the shin, a look of horror flashed across his face immediately after. He apologized profusely, covering his face with his hands to hide his cheeks blushing.  
  
Jean laughed awkwardly, taking the chance to look at Armin. The boy looked back at him from between his fingers, his bottom lip turning from biting it. The concern on Armin’s face calmed him. He let out a slow breath, allowing himself to smile. _‘He still cares..’_  
  
Words tumbled out of Armin suddenly, as if they longed to be in the open air. “I…I wanted to say that, I don’t support what you’re doing at all, but your reasons for doing it are valid. It was wrong of me to expect you to cut out your old life. It is a part of you, for better or worse, and I find it incredibly valiant that you want to see it through.” He took his hands from his face and curled his fingers around the edge of the desk. “I was wrong to judge you so fast, to be cruel. That’s not the type of person I want to be.”  
  
Armin’s voice faltered. The red blush on his cheeks grew deeper, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Jean’s gaze. “I don’t quite know why, but I find myself worrying about you.”  
  
Jean’s heart leapt into his throat at Armin’s words, he felt heat in his ears.  
  
“By all rights, I shouldn’t, but I think of you and wonder if you’re alright.” Armin shook his head softly. “It’s not my place to get involved, and I understand if you’d like nothing to do with me now. But I won’t give up on you, Jean. You’re an entirely different person than I expected, I only needed to look closer to see that. I want to get to know you, the real you. The you that I can only hope to help you become.”  
  
Jean’s heart blocked his voice, only a few tiny sounds managing to escape at first. The heat from his ears found its way down to his cheeks, and he grinned before letting out a soft laugh. “Apology accepted, Armin. Of course it is. How could I refuse the help of the class president?”  
  
He slid from his chair and kneeled on the floor beside Armin, bowing slowly. He’d always a flair the dramatic, but he knew the boy was smiling before he could even look up to see it. Jean reached out, clasping his hands closely around Armin’s, feeling the warmth radiating from the slender palms. The contact sent a pleasant shock wave through them both, and their eyes locked. Tender and full of confidence, Jean whispered, “Armin Arlert, will you be my tutor?”  
  
The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, lips quivering at the edges. In a moment of bravery, his voice full of resolve, Armin replied, “Yes!” He slipped easily from his chair into Jean’s arms.  
  
Astonishment danced within Jean, his hands trembling as he curled his arms tightly around the boy’s waist. He held Armin like glass, reverently trailing his fingertips along his back.  
  
Armin turned his head slightly, their cheeks softly grazing, and whispered, “I would love to be your tutor, Jean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of Maserati.


End file.
